


sheep number 237

by coffeebiscuits



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon Divergence - Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Character Study, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes, Sharing a Bed, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, a lot of talking basically, like steve finds bucky before civil war i guess?, of a sort, there are so many tags oh my god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:20:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24204292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeebiscuits/pseuds/coffeebiscuits
Summary: A cold night in Brooklyn and a cold night in Chicago, seventy years later.The parallels between the two.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 6
Kudos: 69





	sheep number 237

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this because lately i’ve been feeling pretty shitty mentally and i just wanted to write some emo stuff. also steve and bucky are the ultimate comfort characters for me lmao
> 
> this is so much talking like 90% of this fic is just them talking. i’m sorry 
> 
> i don’t know if this was like? supposed to be emotional? i just word vomited all over the page and this happened but uhh i hope i Sparked Something In You or else i failed.

_ “I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.” _

_ -Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles _

* * *

It’s a cold night in Brooklyn, and the heater’s broken. 

The mound of blankets that Bucky gave Steve does nothing to make him warm. He’s still shivering violently under the weight, and he wraps his skinny arms around himself and rubs frantically, desperate for the friction to give him any sense of warmth. 

It doesn’t, and Steve drops his arms, disappointed. 

He clamps down on his teeth to prevent them from chattering loudly- he doesn’t want to wake Bucky, who’s in the bed across the room. God knows he’s bothered Bucky enough with his illnesses, with his best friend having to take on extra jobs just to pay for Steve’s medicine. They were running dangerously low on money. In retrospect, that was probably why the heater suddenly cut off. 

Steve squeezes his eyes shut, trying to force himself to drift off. Counting sheep is a practically useless method, but he’s so desperate that he tries it anyway. 

He’s on sheep number 237 when he hears a rustle in the bed opposite his. 

Steve sits up and squints. Through the weak ray of moonlight shining through the window, he can barely make out a shifting movement in Bucky’s bed. 

“Buck?” he whispers. 

Bucky sits up and yawns. “Need some warmth there, Stevie?” 

“I’m fine, Buck. Go back to sleep.” 

“Your teeth are chattering so loud you woke me up. You’re not fine.” 

Steve falls silent, giving up. Bucky isn’t as hopelessly stubborn as Steve, but when he sets his mind to something, he’ll do it. 

He hears the distinct sound of Bucky pulling back his covers and stretching. Steve’s finger twitches and he can hear his heart hammering in his chest. 

He doesn’t want Bucky anywhere near him right now. Not when he’s tired and his brain is addled by the cold. He’s worried what he’ll do, that his impulse control will fail and he’ll throw himself into Bucky’s arms. 

He’s been in love with Bucky as long as he can remember, before he even knew what the word “love” meant, and it’s- it’s usually manageable but not tonight. Tonight all he wants to do is tuck himself into the bigger man’s warm body and kiss his hand. Or something. Steve doesn’t know how romance works, he’s never even kissed someone. 

No one has wanted him. Some bitter, self-deprecating part of Steve can’t blame them. 

Loving Bucky has been something he’s known forever. Grass is green, the sky is blue, and Steve loves Bucky. It’s a fact at this point, and it  _ should _ be something that Steve is used to, but it isn’t. His heart still thrums its tell-tale beat under his skin when Bucky looks at him a certain way, touches him a certain way, smiles at him a certain way. Just yesterday Bucky brushed the overgrowing hair out of Steve’s eyes and he broke into cold sweat. 

Bucky has made his way over to Steve’s bed, the soft  _ pit-pat  _ of his bare feet against the floor the only sound in the stillness. He lifts Steve’s cover up and grunts. “Move over.” 

Steve, still shivering, rolls over almost to the opposite side of the bed until he’s pressed up against the wall. He can feel the warmth radiating from Bucky and it’s so  _ tempting _ , but he knows it’s a bad idea. He has a sick feeling in his stomach and all he wants to do is go to sleep. 

The moonlight helps Steve see Bucky’s furrowed eyebrows and unkempt hair. He licks his lips and Steve’s eyes immediately snap down to his mouth and then snap back up. 

“What’s wrong, pal?” Bucky asks, and he seems genuinely confused- they’ve done this before, after all, ever since they were little kids. Steve is practically always cold and Bucky’s like a personal heater. 

_ We’re perfect for each other _ , Steve thinks dryly.

“Nothing” is all Steve says. 

“Well, it ain’t nothing because you’re clearly freezing and you won’t let me warm you up.” 

“Just go back to bed, Buck-”

“Like hell I will- get your skinny ass over here, Steve or I swear to God I will drag you into my arms.” 

Steve lets out an exaggerated sigh as if the last thing he wants to do is crawl into Bucky’s warmth (it’s the first thing he wants to do, in reality). He slowly scooches over to where Bucky is lying and lets himself be enveloped in his arms. 

“See, now isn’t that better?” Bucky murmurs, his head placed on top of Steve’s. Steve’s head is buried in his chest and he drinks in the smell of sleep and coffee and just  _ Bucky _ and it’s so overwhelming that he wants to kiss him and shove him away at the same time. 

Steve grumbles, defeated. Bucky laughs and strokes the back of Steve’s neck with his hand, lightly scratching the base of his hair. It feels weird but also surprisingly… really nice. 

“You’ve always been so cuddly,” Bucky says fondly. “ _ Steve. _ ” 

Steve looks up blearily. His shivering has stopped and he’s finally comfortable and he just wants to let himself sleep and maybe dream about a life where he can have this every night, where he can wake up and have Bucky be his. “Hm?” 

Bucky gently strokes Steve’s cheek with his thumb once, twice, three times. Steve suddenly can’t breathe and he can hear his pulse as a deafening roar and he’s quite experienced with shortness of breath, but this can’t be fixed with an inhaler. 

“What are you doing?” Steve asks, and it’s so quiet he can barely hear himself. 

The corners of Bucky’s mouth quirk up. “You know, Stevie, you’re real dense sometimes.” 

Then he leans forward and presses his mouth to Steve’s, and then there is nothing but Bucky’s hands on Steve’s face and his mouth on his. He gently rolls Steve on top of him until they’re practically melted together and everything is warm. 

Then Steve is breaking away from Bucky and putting his hands over his face. “Wait. Wait. I don’t understand.” 

“What do you mean? What is there to understand?” 

Steve quickly blows out a breath. “Listen. Buck. This isn’t- this isn’t just a  _ kiss _ for me, okay? I don’t know how you feel and it’s…” he sees Bucky’s increasingly confused expression and he decides to pull off the Band-Aid, so to speak. “I’m in love with you.” 

“Oh.” 

Steve groans internally. He’s fucked this all up. He’s fucked everything up. He can kiss their friendship goodbye because there’s no way that Bucky would reciprocate his feelings- he doesn’t even think that Bucky likes boys that way. Steve doesn’t think that Bucky would be the kind of person to be disgusted by his love confession, but it would make things extremely awkward between them. Steve needs to move out. 

He opens his mouth to say sorry but immediately shuts it once he sees the wide grin slowly spreading across Bucky’s face. “Are you okay?” comes out instead. 

“Yeah. Yeah. I’m great.” 

“Uh. I mean. I know that this just probably made things awkward but it’s great that you’re okay with it, we can just pretend this never happened, right? Jesus, Buck, I’m just so sorry-”

“Steve,” Bucky interrupts (for like the fifth time in this conversation, Steve really needs to talk to him about that once he understands what the  _ hell is going on _ ), “shut up for one second. I’m great because-” at this he grabs Steve’s hands and looks at him, overjoyed- “I’m not the only one in love with my best friend.”

He surges forward and captures Steve’s lips again and his lips are warm and soft and he gently tugs on Steve’s lower lip and  _ yeah. Steve could get used to this.  _

But then something inside Steve just explodes and he quickly shoves Bucky away from himself (he isn’t very strong, honestly, so Bucky doesn’t go far) and all Steve feels in that moment is fear, fear for their lives and what will happen to them if anyone finds out. 

“We have to hide,” Steve says hollowly and he can almost hear his heart break into a million pieces. “You know… you know what it’s like, Buck. For people like us.” 

Just last week Steve had stepped up to a middle aged man who was shoving a younger boy against the wall. The man had snarled “he’s a queer, we don’t like them fairies around these parts” and when Steve had swung a punch at him, he’d been shoved into a row of trash cans for his trouble. 

He had come home stinking of garbage and defeat, a black eye blooming on his face. 

Steve laughs humorlessly. “The world isn’t kind right now. We can’t do this.” 

Bucky shakes his head. “Yes we can, Stevie. We’ll figure something out- we’ll be careful, alright? We’ll only touch each other in here, we’ll- we’ll be careful.” 

“But is that what you want?” Steve’s voice sounds broken to his own ears, helpless. He should be happy that Bucky feels the same. He is. But he’s also flooded with dread. “Loving each other in hiding? You should be able to find a nice girl and have kids and settle down. You’ll never be able to do that with me.” 

Bucky’s eyes snap up to Steve’s and they’re filled with determination, with a spark that Steve only sees when Bucky’s fighting. “That is what I want,” he says slowly. He sounds almost angry and he grips Steve’s wrist tightly until it almost hurts. “Being with you-  _ that  _ is what I want. Don’t you understand? Why can’t you get that through your thick skull, huh?” He’s crying now, unshed tears glimmering in his eyes. 

“I just want  _ you _ , sweetheart,” Bucky continues. “Stevie. You’re all I want. I don’t care how we’ll have to live. Even if I have to keep chasing after girls and pretend I like them outside of here. Hell, even if I have to get married to someone else. You’re all I’m ever gonna want.” 

Steve is crying now, too, small hiccuping sobs. He hates this. He hates the world and the cruel people that live in it and the fact that he can’t go outside holding his lover’s hand or else he’ll get beaten. He’s torn apart with hate for the outside world and love for the man sitting across from him. 

“I swear to you,” Bucky whispers. He raises Steve’s hand and kisses his wrist, gently, so light Steve can barely feel it. “I swear to you that I will love you until my last breath. You’re the one for me, Stevie. You’re it. I’m with you-” and here he chokes, blinking furiously- “I’m with you til the end of the line.” 

Steve presses forward and buries his head in the crook of Bucky’s neck, breathing him in and hiding his tears.  _ I’m with you til the end of the line.  _ Bucky had said it before, multiple times, sometimes with a voice filled with humor, other times filled with endless support. But he had never said it like this. Here, it’s in a voice overwhelmed with love and fondness. 

Here, it sounds like a promise. 

_ Til death do us part.  _

“Okay,” Steve breathes into Bucky’s neck. “Okay.” He sits up and looks at his best friend, the love of his life. “We’ll do it. We’ll hide. We’ll find a way.” 

Bucky smiles but it’s a little bittersweet. He leans forward and presses their foreheads together, tangling his fingers with Steve’s. His thumb comes up and gently wipes away Steve’s tears, and then his lips are on Steve’s forehead, nose, cheeks, everywhere he can reach. He finally gets to Steve’s lips, and the kiss is soft and sweet and Steve’s heart  _ aches _ . 

“One day,” Bucky vows, “one day we’ll be old enough. We’ll be able to get married and we’ll walk through the streets and we’ll hold hands and I’ll tell everyone that you’re my guy. That you’re mine.” 

Steve laughs, but he’s also crying, and it’s a mess. “That won’t happen for a long time.” 

Bucky shrugs, with just one shoulder. “Then I’ll wait. For however long I need to. Doesn’t matter if it’s thirty years from now or ninety. I’m not dying til we’ve got matching rings on our fingers.” 

Steve breathes slowly and bumps Bucky’s nose with his own. “I love you. So much.” 

“Love you too,” Bucky responds, and his grin is so wide it threatens to take over his entire face. 

They lie back down and pull the cover over themselves. Bucky draws Steve in tight and kisses his mop of blond hair, whispering “ _ I love you _ ” over and over again, like a mantra. Like it’s all he can cling to in the world, the only thing he knows for sure. 

Steve closes his eyes, breathes in deep, and waits for the future. 

* * *

It’s a cold night in Chicago, and the heater’s broken. 

Steve can’t sleep. 

Unlike when he was a small, skinny kid in Brooklyn, the cold doesn’t bother him. He’s pretty much always warm now, thanks to the serum. It probably has something to do with his sheer level of body mass. 

But no. This time, it’s not the cold that makes him toss and turn under the covers. 

He bites his lip, mulling over what happened a month ago. How he could fix it.  _ If  _ he could fix it. 

Maybe he lost Bucky forever. Maybe he scared him away. The thought lies heavily in Steve’s gut and makes nausea coil through his stomach. 

Once Steve had tracked down Bucky, it hadn’t been pretty. Bucky remembered only a little. Most of it was from the Smithsonian exhibit- he remembered little bits and pieces, like the smell of the flowers that bloomed outside their window or the steady whistle of their tea kettle. 

Their first meeting, Steve had pushed him a little too far. He had asked if Bucky remembered anything about him, about their relationship, and Bucky had gotten spooked and shot Steve in the calf. 

In hindsight, Steve humorlessly thinks now, he probably had deserved it. Steve had been desperate, looking for any sign of the boy who fell in love with him. He lost Bucky already. This was like losing him all over again. 

After a large deal of glaring (on Bucky’s part) and endless apologies (on Steve’s part), Steve had convinced Bucky to leave with him. To go to a safe house in the suburbs and… Steve hadn’t known what to do from there. 

What did he expect, anyway? For Bucky to magically remember things? For him to cut his hair, shave his face, and whisper sweet nothings into Steve’s ear? 

Steve grips a pillow angrily. God, he had been so naive. He was so eager for everything to magically be fixed. 

A month ago, Bucky had been slowly making tea. Natasha had brought them groceries, and Steve had put together a nice lunch and he had seen Bucky’s eyes flash in recognition when Steve pulled out jell-o salad, which Sarah had made for them when they were little kids. 

It had been a good day, and Steve was quietly humming to himself, and he reached over Bucky to get to the sugar. His hand had brushed Bucky’s and then everything had gone to shit. 

Bucky had stumbled back explosively, clumsily smashing the teapot with his metal arm, making the shards rain down on Steve’s hand. 

Steve had stood there, feeling more lost than he ever had in his entire life. “Buck?” 

Bucky quickly had looked down at Steve’s hand, shallow cuts leaking blood on his palm. Horror had appeared on his face, then replaced by determination. 

“I can’t do this,” he said. “I’m sorry. I have to go.” 

Then he had whirled around, shoved open the door with his shoulder, and left the house. 

He didn’t even look back. He hasn’t returned. 

It. Well. It hurts. 

Steve keeps running his mind over the scene, wondering what exactly had made Bucky explode. Was it the touch? Steve bitterly wondered if Bucky would still be here if he had just been a  _ little  _ more careful with reaching for the sugar. 

Steve sighs, tucking his face into the crook of his elbow. If he had never touched him, something similar probably would’ve happened sooner or later. Bucky’s twitchiness and need to leave had probably been building up and the touch just happened to be his breaking point. 

Steve just wishes he could help. He doesn’t know how. He can count on one hand the times he’s felt completely, utterly hopeless since he’s had the serum. 

Captain America is supposed to be bright and positive and the embodiment of what this country should be. America’s golden boy. 

Steve Rogers just feels lost and empty without the love of his life. 

He turns, pressing his face into his pillow, trying to drag himself into unconsciousness. 

He counts sheep. 

One. Two. Three. 

It’s at sheep number 237 when he hears a voice behind him. 

“Need some warmth there, Stevie?” 

Steve almost cries in relief at the sound- the voice he’d know anywhere. It’s ridiculous, the way that Bucky’s voice immediately soothes him, calms his racing heart. It’s like coming home. 

Steve chuckles quietly, and slowly sits up, making sure not to make any sudden movements as if he’s dealing with a wild animal. 

“Bucky,” Steve says. His voice trembles, and he swallows hard. 

In the dark, Steve can make out a wry smile on Bucky’s face. “Hey there, Stevie.” 

The pet name makes Steve’s eyes prickle, a wave of nostalgia and longing sweeping over him. It brings him back to them in their apartment, before the war, Bucky flicking cigarette ash on the ground and flashing his teeth in a crooked smile. Bucky leaning over to press his lips to Steve’s, laughing when the latter wrinkles his nose at the taste of cigarette smoke. 

“I missed you,” Steve blurts, and then flushes, because he hadn’t planned on saying that at all. He had planned on asking Bucky where the hell he had been. 

Bucky’s eyes soften, and he inches his way over to Steve’s bed, carefully placing himself on the edge. “Had to figure some stuff out. Tried to… get my thoughts together.” 

Steve waits patiently for Bucky to continue. 

He does. “I think I remember most things. Some memories are blurry. I can’t tell if they’re real or if I made them up. But…” 

“But?”

Bucky shoots forward, startling Steve. He’s immediately in front of him, sitting on his heels. “I think…” he begins, slowly raising a hand. He reaches up and touches Steve’s jaw, caressing it with a feather-light touch. Steve can’t breathe. His heart is hammering, and he’s worried that Bucky can hear it. 

“We were together,” Bucky says, but it sounds like more of a question. “I loved you.” 

Steve’s emotions are pushing against each other, clawing their way to his throat until he feels choked by them. He’s relieved that Bucky remembers. Angry at Hydra, for tearing away his memories. Crushed at Bucky’s use of “loved.” Not the present tense. 

“Yes,” Steve whispers, and he’s shocked to find that he’s crying, tears silently running down his face. “Yes. And I loved you.” He takes the leap. “I still do.” 

Bucky hums, turning this over. He exhales. “I remember that night. When the heater broke.” 

“I told you that I was in love with you.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky says, and he grins, and for a second Steve is lightheaded at the bright smile he hasn’t seen for seventy years. “Yeah, Steve. I was so proud. I wanted to climb the highest building and tell everyone that you were mine. Wanted to shout it from the rooftops.” He pauses. “Was so proud,” he repeats, and Steve chokes back a sob. 

“Do you…” Steve pauses. He doesn’t want to push Bucky, doesn’t want to scare him away like last time, but he’s so relieved that he wants to cry. “Do you remember anything else?” 

“You always used to get beat up. You’d practically go around to see if anyone was being an ass and pick a fight. Just asking to get hurt. I remember one day you pretty much crawled home, spitting blood. I had a goddamn heart attack.” 

“I never could stay out of trouble,” Steve chuckles. 

Bucky purses his lips. “Still can’t,” he says, and he flashes a grin again, tongue poking out of his teeth. It’s so cocky and so  _ Bucky  _ and Steve can’t goddamn breathe. He’s stunning. Bucky has always been stunning. Then, when he had a clean face and cropped hair, and now, with his stubble and scars and mechanical arm. 

He’s the most beautiful person that Steve has ever laid eyes on, and even now, he takes Steve’s breath away. 

Steve can’t help but think about what life would have been like if Bucky really had died on the train. If Steve didn’t have him here in front of him, living and breathing and a little broken but still every bit the love of his life. 

Steve doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to think about it. 

Living without Bucky is hardly living at all. Bucky is Steve’s heart, his soul, and losing him was like having an arm cut off. It was a physical, pressuring pain, and sometimes Steve had to press his forehead to the ground and take deep breaths because he  _ choked  _ on the pain, was suffocated by it. 

He doesn’t mention it, but half of the reason why he crashed the Valkyrie wasn’t necessarily to save thousands of people. He had also hoped that maybe, just maybe, he would be able to see Bucky on the other side. To be reunited again. 

Steve had never known what to call Bucky. Lover was too little, best friend even more so. Bucky was, well… he  _ was _ Steve. He was his other half. His soulmate. 

Bucky presses his right fingers into Steve’s arm. It’s comforting, grounding, and Steve focuses on it, on the warmth that Bucky emits- has always emitted. 

“You’re thinking too loud,” Bucky whispers. 

Steve gives him a wry smile. “Sorry. I was just…” he sighs. He doesn’t think that he can put his thoughts into words. 

“What are you thinking about?” 

“Nothing.” 

Bucky narrows his eyes and pushes his head into Steve’s, crowding into his space. His hot breath fans over Steve’s cheek, who shivers. Steve’s eyes dart to Bucky, hoping that he doesn’t notice. He does. He always does, and he’s grinning. 

“Bullshit,” Bucky says. 

Steve sighs, heavy and long. “I was thinking about how I love you. And I can’t live without you. But don’t feel pressured to say it back, Buck.” The last part comes out fast, rushing to reassure Bucky that he doesn’t need to return his feelings. That’s the last thing Steve wants, to pressure Bucky. He’s- he’s healing. And that takes time, Steve knows. 

Steve pushes his head down, not wanting to look Bucky in the eye. He can’t deal with the heartbreak of having the love of his life not love him back- he knows it’s not fair to Bucky for Steve to expect his love to be requited, but still. Still. 

Bucky hurts to look at. He’s always been like this. Even when they were kids, Steve could barely look at Bucky. He was the sun to him. Bucky was the main focus of Steve’s life. He was his whole world. 

Everytime Steve looked at Bucky, he fell a little bit more in love with him. And that shook him to his very core. 

Steve had been hurt countless times. He had been beaten into the ground, his bones broken. He had been through countless fevers and colds. He had experienced mind-numbing, earth-shattering pain. 

But Steve has never known a greater agony than being irrevocably, terrifyingly in love. 

He’s jolted from his thoughts by the feeling of Bucky’s hand on his jaw. He feels his head being lifted slowly, until he’s staring into Bucky’s steel eyes. He can’t bear it. 

“Sweetheart,” Bucky says softly. “I love you. I love you so much, Stevie.” 

He brushes away the tears that are glimmering in Steve’s eyes. “It’s all I’ve ever known.” 

Steve squeezes his eyes shut, hard. He feels like he’s being torn open. “Then why’d you  _ leave _ ?” he whispers. It sounds worse out loud than in his head - it’s sharp. Bitter. Bucky flinches, and Steve immediately hates himself. 

Bucky sighs and drops his hand that had still been mindlessly stroking Steve’s neck. Steve misses it, but is also thankful for it because the slide of Bucky’s warm hand on his skin was making his mind swim. 

“I don’t know,” Bucky begins slowly. Then he sighs, which melts into a frustrated groan. “I  _ do  _ know. I’m not- I’m not the man you fell in love with, Stevie. I hurt you. Hell, I’m  _ still  _ hurting you.” He very pointedly glares at Steve’s palm, where the teapot shards had broken the skin. 

Steve bites his lip. “It didn’t hurt.” 

“I’m not talking about that.” Bucky smiles without any humor. “I’m breaking your heart. I’m either a dangerous brainwashed weapon or just an unstable man with memory problems. I’m not the Bucky from the 1940’s.” 

Steve shakes his head. “No,” he responds. “You’re not. But you’re still the man I’m in love with. Every version of you is the man I’m in love with. Don’t you understand?” 

“Steve…” Bucky begins, but Steve cuts him off rudely, determined to finish what he’s saying, to put his messy, jumbled thoughts into words. Steve barely knows what he’s thinking. All he knows is that he loves Bucky, loves him with every ounce of his soul, loves him so much he can’t even take it. 

“When I lost you on the train, it felt like a part of me was ripped out. I was hollow, Buck. I was a ghost. I’d walk around and not know where I was or where I was going. Don’t you  _ understand _ ? I can’t live without you.” 

Bucky chews on this, sitting in silence. “What about Peggy?” The question is almost so quiet Steve can’t hear it. It completely throws him off. 

Steve swallows, taken aback. “Peggy was. Well. I think I loved her, if I’m being honest.” At this he watches Bucky’s face carefully, but Bucky doesn’t show any sign of emotion, his face impassive and expectant. “But it was because I couldn’t live that life with you. Getting married, having kids, living in a house with a white picket fence. I always thought we’d live next to each other as next door neighbors and we’d… I don’t know. Make the most of what we could’ve.”

Steve sighs, rubbing his hand over his face before continuing. “But you were always it for me, Bucky. That day on the bridge… it was like I was reborn. Seeing you, even if it was like that - it brought something back in me. I’d been torn apart, ripped into shreds for so long, and just seeing you. Hearing your voice. It stitched me back together.” 

When he finishes talking, Steve awkwardly scratches his wrist. Bucky isn’t speaking. Steve feels raw, exposed, like Bucky can see every inch of his heart. 

Bucky shakes his head. “But it hurt. I hurt you, Steve.” His voice catches and breaks at Steve’s name. “I’m telling you, I don’t - I can’t -”

He cuts himself off and lets a small whimper escape from his throat. Steve can feel him backing up, inch by inch,  _ leaving again _ , and the thought fills Steve up with so much blind terror he chokes on it. 

Steve does the first thing that comes to mind, and, lightning fast, he grabs Bucky’s left arm. Bucky looks up at him with pure bewilderment evident on his face. 

In the next second Steve is holding Bucky’s hand to his throat. 

Bucky freezes. 

It’s dead quiet, Steve and Bucky staring each other down. The arm clicks and whirs, and it’s the only sound between them until Bucky shatters the silence. 

“Don’t joke about that,” he says, and it’s low, dangerous. Any sane person would back away, but Steve doesn’t, only glares at Bucky and doesn’t let him get away. He doesn’t move an inch, and tightens his hold on Bucky’s struggling hand. 

“Are you going to hurt me?” Steve asks. A challenge. Bucky’s angry too, his dark eyebrows narrowing over his eyebrows and his mouth set into a firm line. 

“What?” 

“Just answer the damn question.  _ Are you going to hurt me? _ ” 

Steve knows that Bucky could kill him right here if he wanted to. If he tried. He could squeeze the life out of Steve, watch the light go out of his eyes, and leave. 

And Steve would let him. He was done losing Bucky. 

Bucky stops struggling and his eyes widen. “No,” he responds softly, and Steve drops Bucky’s hand. He’s telling the truth. For one reason or another, Bucky genuinely cannot find the willpower within him to harm Steve. 

“I trust you,” Steve tells him. “I trust you with my life, sweetheart. Maybe you hurt me before. Doesn’t matter. You won’t again.” 

Bucky still looks unconvinced, his eyes darting to the door, and Steve doesn’t know how to make him  _ understand.  _ He grabs Bucky’s hands and presses them between his own. 

“That night in Brooklyn,” Steve says, his voice coming out in a rush. “You told me that one day we’d be old enough to go out in public and kiss and hold hands. That you’d wait. You remember?” 

When Bucky nods slowly, Steve takes it as incentive to keep going. 

“Well, we’re old enough now. We’re a hundred years old, Buck. We made it.” 

Steve barely knows what happens next, he just feels Bucky pushing into him so forcefully that he almost falls off the bed, and then Bucky is looming over him. For a second Steve thinks Bucky is genuinely going to kill him, but then his eyes soften and he lowers himself and hesitantly presses his lips to Steve’s. 

The kiss is slow and heady and Steve numbly realizes that Bucky tastes the same,  _ feels  _ the same, and he’s crying and smiling into the kiss and it’s messy, so  _ fucking  _ messy. But Steve feels alive all of a sudden, like he’s resurrected, and something in his stomach untwists and he can finally  _ breathe.  _

They break apart, their foreheads and hands together and it’s like that  _ fucking  _ night in Brooklyn and Steve laughs, not being able to remember the last time he was so happy. 

“I love you,” Bucky hiccups. He nuzzles his nose into Steve’s cheek and inhales, his tears looking into Steve’s face but he couldn’t care less. “I love you so much, Stevie. It’s all I’ve ever known, all I’ve ever been sure of.” 

Steve wraps his arm around Bucky and drags him down, until they’re so tangled together that he doesn’t know where Steve ends and Bucky begins. They’re  _ SteveandBucky _ again, and God, Steve feels like he can finally breathe. 

“You’re mine,” Steve whispers. “And I’m yours.” 

“I’m yours,” Bucky repeats, and Steve grins. “Til the end of the line,” he says. 

The heater’s broken, but he’s the warmest he’s ever been. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> steve’s eyes are glistening with the ghosts of his past
> 
> anyways i hoped you like, comments and kudos give me strength but if you didn’t like it that is okay too. you do you 
> 
> take a shot every time someone repeats something
> 
> writing this felt like a million years long but when i read it it feels gross and rushed?? i hate this so much already why do i even write 
> 
> if ur still reading this i love you, drink some water


End file.
